Never Meant to Be Epilogue
by teecrushfic
Summary: Epilogue to a quartet of stories. Complete. AU, angst, suicide attempt, character death. Not cheery or fluffy. Harry Potter and Draco Malfoy are meant to be...aren't they? Then why, why, why does it never work out? Ever?


**Never Meant to Be – Epilogue **

Ice seemed to hang in the air, daggers ready to fall at the slightest tremor, the slightest provocation.

Harry walked alone through the winding paths of the graveyard; he was a familiar sight to the cherubs and angels that watched him with their blank stone eyes. They stayed perched atop their monuments, guardians of the dead.

He knew death and did not fear it. Not anymore.

The grave was bare, silvery gray marble, adorned with silver letters that were already tarnished by the cold and damp.

**Draco Malfoy **

**5 June 1980 ~ 4 January 2006**

** Ever Loved**

He hadn't had more inscribed on the stone; there had been nothing else to say.

No others came to this grave; the Malfoy crypt was full now - Narcissa having passed suddenly last year - and there were none who bore that name left to tend memories of the dead.

Only him.

Harry sat down in front of the stone, tracing his fingers over the letters, memorizing them with his fingertips. It was an almost sacred ritual now; to walk through the blind statues and sit next to this grave. He never missed a day.

The day Draco had been buried, only he, Hermione and Ron had stood there to watch the coffin being lowered into the ground. Draco had cut ties with most people in the last year and the few of his friends that were still around feared Harry still and paid their respects to the grave when Harry was not present.

Further mention of Draco's death had been reduced to a two line item on the obituary page of The Prophet, the day it was to happen. Harry had wanted it that way. He didn't want curious onlookers gawking at the grave of was-he-or-wasn't-he-a-Death-Eater-spy –Malfoy.

Draco had proved who he was at the end.

"Hi love," he whispered his voice hoarse, cracked and unused. Unless forced to, he hadn't spoken much since the day of the funeral. He had nothing he wanted to say to the living.

He didn't always say much here, either, but he was sure that Draco knew he was there. Draco had never made him talk, either. He had understood Harry's silences, his brooding. He had never pushed, never teased…he had been content to be Harry's comfort during those times when the past came rushing back to him and the future felt too heavy to bear.

"I'm almost ready," he said quietly. "It's almost time, Draco."

The silence was complete. At this time of year, even the birds did not sing but stayed huddled together for warmth against the constant onslaught of cold.

Harry huddled in his jacket and let his thoughts flow and jumble together in a river.

The day in Hogwarts, when fevered from insults shouted, and bloody from punches thrown, they had stopped, breathing heavily and stared at each other…and both had seen the desire behind the passion and had blindly thrown themselves at each other one last time…

The dueling lessons that had allowed them both to learn how to attack the enemy…and defend each other.

The last great battle where each had saved the other's lives so many times, that it was impossible to count…and Draco's tears over his fallen father's body…his over his beloved foster father, Arthur Weasley…and their combined tears of gratitude that they had both survived to live in a world where they could be free.

The first time they'd ever truly been together…fevered gropes in broom closets, notwithstanding.

Draco's kisses, setting him on fire in places that he never imagined could tingle that way.

The first time Draco told him he loved him and never wanted to lose him.

Their fights; both of them screaming at each other, dredging up the past, eviscerating the present. The stony cold silences. The slow warming…the steaming consummation… the murmured _I'm sorrys, I'm a git, I love you_.

The first time Draco had done something so hard, so hurtful, so wrong that Harry felt that he'd rather be alone than spend another second, minute, moment, lifetime with him.

The first time he'd had to leave.

The second time they'd split.

The third time; God, that there had been a third time. He had never thought that a heart could actually break.

The years after that he had spent building his walls and defenses so thick and so high that no one could ever tear them down again.

He had deliberately set himself on a path of loneliness…casual encounters, meaningless kisses, half-hearted gropings; because one's hand could only suffice for so long.

But it meant nothing.

Nothing.

Then he came back. He came back and Harry was ashamed of how quickly he would have forgiven him just to see that lazy smile again, to feel his arms around him, to feel that tongue swirl around his mouth and devour him. To feel loved.

But he couldn't risk it. He had barely survived Draco's love last time and knew without a doubt that he would not survive it this time.

While Draco lived, Harry had the moral high ground. He was right and nothing could take that away from him.

While Draco lived.

But now he lay in the icy ground, his smile forever extinguished, and his love – for there had been love, he knew - no more than a memory.

Harry looked at the darkening sky, cut into by the black trees.

He looked at the angels and cherubs gazing back at him.

He took off his jacket and laid it beside the grave. Underneath it, he wore nothing except the skin Draco had loved to touch, scarred by curses, carved in pain.

His chest and heart laid bare, he lay down on the stone and closed his eyes, not feeling the bitter cold seeping through his skin, into his bones, turning his blood to ice.

"It's time, love. I'll never leave you alone again."

& & &

There is still only one stone there, cold and untended. Underneath the tarnished inscription lie two more words.

_Ever Mine_

Harry wanted it that way.

4


End file.
